


The Secret of Happiness

by WinterPoet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Daddy long legs AU, M/M, which is not as kinky as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:44:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterPoet/pseuds/WinterPoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve never thought he'd get the chance to go to college, but thanks to a mysterious benefactor, that may be changing. In which there is some pining, a lot of misunderstanding, and also period wear because who doesn't love the imagery of Sebastian Stan in a vest and a grandpa cap?</p>
<p>Based off the novel <em> Daddy Long Legs </em> by Jean Webster, and the musical by the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Perfectly Awful Day

It was a perfectly awful day. Steve had already comforted six crying children, dropped a platter of sandwiches, and Mary Jane Watson went through three different pairs of stockings before settling on one that only had a _small_ hole in it. He was, in every sense of the word, done. Soon, all the visitors would stop pretending they cared about orphans and head back to the city. It wouldn't matter if a few heads went unbrushed, and the John Grier Home could become peaceful again. Or at least as peaceful as a home filled with almost one hundred screaming children could be.

Steve had finally gotten the chance to lay down, and was considering pulling out his sketchbook when he heard the unmistakably shrill voice of Peter Parker singing up the stairs.

"Steven Rogers, you are wanted in the office, and you'd better hurry up!" sang Peter, off-key and out of breath from stomping up the stairs.

"Who wants me?" replied Steve, his mind already racing with possible shortcomings. Had there been something wrong with the food? Had someone noticed the numerous holes some of the little ones had worn into their clothing?

"Mr. Fury, in the office, and I think he's really mad," replied Peter, looking rather proud to be delivering the news. Steve guessed he was just excited to not be in trouble for once.

Still, Mr. Fury had requested his presence, and he wasn't a man to keep waiting. As Steve walked swiftly through the halls, he ran back through his day, searching for anything odd.

_Oh, God._ Some of the older boys _had_ seemed distracted, laughing and whispering despite multiple warnings. That troublemaker Loki had acted especially strange. _They probably set off a firecracker during tea, or did something else equally shameful and now I'm going to bear the punishment,_ Steve thought fervently. Just as he had begun to plan out how to get revenge (he was considering stealing their clothes while they bathed) Steve caught sight of a man leaving the orphanage.

He was tall, and well built, and the headlights in front of him made him cast an impressive shadow. Steve immediately began planning how to sketch him. The man stood like a soldier, ready to face whatever came his way. But he didn't just conduct himself like a soldier. He had an air about him that seemed to convey a grim determination, like a man being sent to his death. Like a soldier on a mission to brave the harshness of winter and whatever else came his way. Time froze just long enough for Steve to assess all of that, and begin to mentally sketch an outline, before resuming and carrying the mysterious man out of the orphanage and into the unknown.

Steve shook his head. He had somewhere to be, and it had seemed rather urgent. He half jogged the rest of the way to Mr. Fury's office and steeled himself before knocking and entering quietly.

"You asked for me sir?" Steve asked as he took a seat. The chairs in Mr. Fury's office were as worn down as the rest of the orphanage, and just as uncomfortable.

Steve had once asked why Mr. Fury didn't replace them, in order to give a better impression to visitors, and the man had merely replied "I won't spend money to impress our patrons with lavish chairs. If my children have to scrape together meals, I sure as hell won't be concerned with how comfortable the behinds of upper-society are." That was the day Steve realized that Mr. Fury was more than a monster waiting to catch innocent orphans with untucked shirts.

"Yes son, I did. You are aware that you are the oldest orphan here. Despite protocol, I've kept you well past the normal age of sixteen. You excelled in your studies, and I urged the committee to give you the opportunity of completing high school. But we are on the eve of your eighteenth birthday, and despite my fondness for you, I can do no more. Your future, in fact, was discussed during my meeting with the trustees today. I proposed keeping you here as additional help, but the committee was not keen on the idea."

Steve's thoughts began to race. He was being turned out, sent to the streets. He knew exceptions had been made for him, but never once contemplated what he would do when his luck finally ran short. He had the education to succeed, but his health was poor to say the least, and physical labor was out of the question. Perhaps the school house was looking to hire? But then, he lacked the knowledge to properly teach. He was trying to come up with a response that consisted of more than "please sir", when Mr. Fury began to speak again.

"One man in particular objected to that path for you. He was so interested in your future that he stayed and spoke with me after the other trustees left. Perhaps you saw him leave?" Steve nodded, recalling the grim winter soldier who had stood in the doorway, and Mr. Fury continued. "Mr.-uh, _that trustee_ has been very good to us, and rather helpful to several boys. Do you remember Clint Barton? Bruce Banner? The trustee in question sent them both to college, and he would like to do the same for you Steven."

Steve's heart swelled. College. He was going to college. All his life he'd dreamed of escaping the John Grier Home, and becoming more than just some orphan, and here was his chance. Yet, he couldn't help but feel some doubt.

"Why me, sir? Why send me to college? I could catch a cold on the way there and die before ever learning a thing," asked Steve, unable to stop himself from expressing his confusion.

Mr. Fury chuckled lightly at Steve's frankness before responding.

"Our dear trustee has never seen you, or at least not that he was aware of, neither have you met him. I doubt he understands just how _prone_ to illness you are. He knows you through your artwork though, and that is what inspired him to choose you among all the orphans to educate. It seems he is impressed by your skill with a pencil, and hopes that time spent in college will allow you to improve even more."

Steve stared at him, his face reading like a book. Fury could see the confusion, doubt, and utter lack of confidence there. He frowned, then cast a glance about the room before leaning in closer to Steve.

"Son, I love all my children, but some are only endeared to me because I know if I don't love them, no one will. You have never been that way. I have raised you, and watched you grow, and I am proud of you. You are strong young man, if not in body then in mind and morals. Accept this opportunity. I do not always agree with the counsel, to the point of often electing to ignore their foolish decisions, but in this they are correct."

Steve stared at Mr. Fury, his mouth parted slightly in surprise as well as indecision. His lips parted and met several times before he managed to finally choke out a response.

"Yes sir. I'll do it. I - I'll go to college." Steve's voice shook, but his face had already begun to twist to form his trademark stubborn expression.

"Fantastic. Pack your things, as you'll leave tomorrow morning. Oh, I nearly forgot. There is this as well." Fury handed Steve a neat white envelope. "Instructions. From your benefactor," he explained.

Steve turned the envelope over in his hands, trying to quickly glean whatever information he could from it, before placing it in his back pocket. He shook Fury's hand and departed from the room, already quietly wondering what his future held.


	2. Dear Winter Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! I honestly have no idea how many chapters this will be, but progress is progress. You can still find me at [my tumblr](http://bucky-is-bae.tumblr.com/), probably screaming about something.

Steve waited until he was in his room, which was blessedly quiet what with the children catching up on lost playtime, to open the envelope Mr. Fury had given him. He took a deep breath before pulling a single piece of paper out and reading the sweeping cursive that covered it.

_Dear Mr. Rogers,_

_I am the secretary to a Mr. John Smith who has decided to take it upon himself to educate you. He believes you to have great potential, and wishes to see your artwork improve even more. Mr. Smith also has a few guidelines and rules which he wishes you to follow._

_Firstly, you will receive a monthly allowance of thirty-five dollars. This will make you equal to most of your fellow students, and keep you from standing out. As Mr. Smith is paying for all of your tuition, housing, and meals, this money is purely for recreation. Use it as you wish, and do not fret over the expense. However, be mindful of your spending habits. Mr. Smith will not pay any debts you acquire, and you will lose his favor should you waste his money._

_Secondly, Mr. Smith is greatly invested in you, and your work, so he asks that you write him at least once a month. Update him on your progress and grades. In short, write to him as of he is one of your parents. Do not thank him, for he has no wish to read such things. Merely tell him how you are doing, how you get on with your fellow students and so on. Send the letters to the address found on the envelope this letter came in, and I will pass them on to Mr. Smith._

_Lastly, understand that Mr. Smith will not write back. You will never receive anything from him, or any acknowledgement that he has read your letters. Do not take this as an excuse not to write, for he will be reading, just not replying. All reports suggest that you are a bright young man, so by this point, you surely will have realized that Mr. John Smith is not actually your benefactor's name. However, his real name is of no consequence to you, so you may simply address your letters to me, and that will suffice. Mr. Smith looks forward to watching you succeed, so do not disappoint him._

_Sincerely,  
Secretary to John Smith _

Steve yawned as he finished reading the letter, and glanced at the clock that stood in one corner. It wasn't even time for dinner yet, but a day of trying to perfect a rather imperfect orphanage had taken its toll. He laid down and curled up under his covers with the letter clutched to his chest. That night he dreamed of a cold war zone, and ivy covered walls.

* * *

It had been strange writing about himself in the third person, but James had done stranger. Still, pretending to be his own secretary wasn't exactly _normal_. He had in fact questioned why he was doing it multiple times. Normally, he wrote a letter containing his rules directly to his student, without bothering to invent a middle man. But something had stopped him as he began to compose a letter to Steve Rogers. Something told him that this particular orphan wasn't going to send bland letters once a month in order to fulfill a requirement. No, Steve Rogers was going to send him letter after letter, and they would contain actual details of his life, and even that imagined intimacy made James uncomfortable.

_Better to keep things more distant,_ he thought. And so he created himself a secretary, and made a point of not telling Steve his real name. Still, a niggling feeling in the back of his mind told him that Steven Grant Rogers was going to be very different from anyone he'd ever sponsored.

* * *

_Dear Mr. ???_

_I refuse to call you Mr. Smith, or to write letters to your secretary. That's far too impersonal, and this is the first time I've ever had a chance to really have a relationship with someone. Orphanages don't exactly foster lasting friendships or parental feelings, you see. So I won't call you by an awkward (and uncreative, might I add) name that your poor secretary invented. I might as well call you Mr. Hitching Post._

_The issue is, you need a new name, but I know almost nothing about you. In fact, I can only think of three things._

_1) You seem to hate your secretary_  
2) You're rich  
3) You're tall and grim

_Although you have your secretary write letters to your orphans instead of doing it yourself (What else do you force them to do? Do you do anything yourself?), I would hardly call that a defining character trait, and I don't want to pass such harsh judgement on you yet. What if I decide to call you Mr. Lazy-Scum or Mr. Works-Secretary-to-Death and you turn out to be a nice man?_

_But I can't call you Mr. Rich-Man either, because that seems rather insulting to you. It makes it seem as if I only bother writing you for your money, and that isn't true. There's also the fact that you aren't guaranteed to stay rich, although that would spell disaster for both of us, so let's not think about that._

_I'm fairly certain you'll stay tall and grim though. I saw your shadow, and you look as intimidating as you do resigned, like a soldier in the middle of winter, ready to face the beyond. So I'll call you Winter Soldier. We don't have to tell anyone, it's just a name between us two._

_You know, my father died as a soldier fighting in the Indian Wars out West. He left to get a paycheck and some glory, but he never came back, and a few months later my mother died in childbirth. I have no idea why I'm telling you this, but as I said, you're the first person to show any care for me in a long while, outside of Fury who was paid to watch me._

_On a happier note, college is incredible. The campus is beautiful, and I have already begun pinpointing details and places I'd like to sketch. I was pleasantly surprised upon my arrival to discover that the college believes strongly in coeducation, a system which I am completely for. I have no idea why, but I believed you to be a conservative man Winter, and am happy to realize just how wrong I am. I will leave this letter here, as I can hear the bell signaling lights out in the distance._

_Yours,_  
_Steven Rogers_

* * *

James stared down at the paper on his desk. The penmanship was awful, but the writing was pleasantly frank. He had found himself laughing at Steve's anger over his imaginary secretary, and his smile carried until the end of the letter. Just as he had predicted, Steve was brutally honest, and gave his opinion without fear or ceremony. He had also been correct about Steve sharing details about his life. He made a mental note to find a way to become even more removed from the situation before he became involved, then made a move to throw the letter away. But something stayed his hand, and he placed it in a drawer in his desk instead. There was something about Steve that made James want to break all of his precious rules, and he wasn't sure what it was yet.

* * *

_Dear Winter Soldier,_

_College is still exciting, but attending actual classes makes it lose some of its shine. I am eager to learn, but it seems I have so much learning to do. I dislike being behind all of my peers. I got enough of that at the orphanage, but at least then what I lacked in size I could make up for in spirit and intellect. Here it seems I am behind in everything. I am still small, and weak. I am motivated, but that is not enough here. An orphanage is not a place of learning, and our town school was apparently quite behind._

_In every subject I am lost. I never had a chance to read the classics, or study complex math, or even admire the works of great artists. I, who take such an interest in art, thought Michelangelo was an archangel, not a mortal genius. I don't waste time wishing to have been born in a better position though, Winter. I am content to work hard and educate myself until I am level with my peers, so don't worry your money will go to waste._

_Outside of class is difficult as well. I missed a whole world of conversation while trapped inside the walls of the John Greir home. People around me discuss recent events, and notable figures that I am blind to. One could say it falls on deaf ears._

_You are unaware of how funny that is, since you don't know that I am deaf in one ear. You actually don't know a lot about me. I have mentioned my size, but I really am built like a little girl, skinny and short as can be. I am often ill, and that tends to leave side effects. My deafness, difficulty breathing, and possibly even my inability to see colors properly are all such reminders of my shortcomings in health. They often thought I was going to die, but I clung to life. I had no idea why the Lord kept me here, but now I see why. College is my chance, my destiny, and I will see through._

_Of course, it isn't all bad. There are two girls who are in all of my classes, and we have become an odd little group. Peggy Carter is a feisty young woman, and has become my closest friend. I knew that I liked her from the moment she argued with our science professor after he claimed "women are meant to stay at home and tend to children as evolution has created them with dispositions too slight for the outside world." I admire her greatly, and she is as kind as she is fierce, so we make a good pair. The other girl is a Natalia Barnes. It seems she comes from old money, and believes that being a Barnes is enough to get you through life, without any extra effort. She has a rather snobbish attitude, yet she fits into our little group, although neither Peggy nor I can figure out why. It seems she just appeared one day, and we accepted her, despite our differences in attitude._

_This is enough for today Winter. I don't want to waste your time with long letters when you could be doing other things, or do you have your secretary do it all, leaving you content to read letters for hours?_

_Yours,_  
_Steven Rogers_

_P.S. Please send some description of your appearance. I have tried to sketch you, but your head proves difficult. Are you bald, or only a little bald, or just covered in gray hair? How wrinkled is your face? Please respond, despite your insistence you won't._

* * *

James found himself laughing again as he read Steve's latest letter. His description of Natalia seemed quite accurate to James, and he had spent nearly all of his life with her. That alone was hilarious, but his favorite part was the postscript. For whatever reason, Steve imagined him to be an old man. His fingers itched with the need to reply, to answer all of Steve's questions, and praise his wit, and to share details about himself just as Steve did. He wanted to tell Steve that he was only twenty-five, and that Natalia was annoying even to a fellow Barnes. He wanted to tell Steve everything, and that concerned him.

He had never been so enthralled by one of his charges. That Stark fellow had written back accounts of engineering marvels James couldn't understand, while Barton had sent a short note every month that was almost impressively bland. But Steve wrote with a vibrancy, and it leaped off the pages. James found himself concerned about Steve's health, interested in how his day had been. _You're becoming too attached, and he's only sent two letters,_ helpfully supplied that little voice in his head. He sighed as he placed Steve's letter into his desk drawer, and tried to convince himself that he didn't need to read it for a fifth time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, promise, PROMISE, that Nat's gonna be more than a whiny throw-off. The train of thought I have right now will go against canon some, but also give Nat a bigger role than Julia ever got in the original. Feedback is welcome as always!


	3. The Trouble With Religion

_November 15,  
Dear Winter Soldier, _

_I apologize for not writing as frequently as I would like to. I am doing a lot of catching up here, and have decided never to study at night, so I don't have much time for letter writing. What do I do at night if not study? Well, I'll tell you, but only you. Truth is, I read. I'm catching up on eighteen years of missed literature, Winter, so it's quite the struggle. Most recently, I've conquered Alice in Wonderland (an odd book, but I liked it) and most of the Sherlock Holmes stories. I have to say that Sherlock has been my favorite. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle really is a genius. Each time I try to guess the culprit, and each time I fail. It has gotten to the point where I begrudgingly guess the butler is guilty each time, but still have made no progress. I guess I'm not meant for police work. I'll just remain content to be an artist and leave the heroism to others._

_Peggy Carter and I are best friends, no way around it. The other day in church, I had to hold her back because the bishop implied the poor exist to serve the wealthy, but then she had to hold me back when he said the Bible proves women are inferior since Eve committed the first sin. We both keep each other out of trouble, unless we get into it together, and isn't that the epitome of friendship? Anyway, we will be sitting in the back of the church now, since punching a bishop seems rather sinful. Although I am sure God would overlook it if that particular bishop was a rotten, pompous scoundrel. Moving on._

_Natalia Barnes is still a part of our group, despite her belief that being a Barnes is equal to being one of the Lord's angels. It seems her and Peggy room together. Natalia and I seem made to be enemies. I'm in charge of my own spiritual guidance now since my bishop will be of little aid, and it seems the Christian thing to do to forgive and forget, but then, I have far too quick a temper to be a perfect Christian. Time will tell, I suppose._

_Peggy Carter may be my best friend, but not even she knows where I come from. I told her my parents are dead, but allowed her to assume it was recent, or that I was given to some rich uncle after their deaths. Do you mind being my uncle Winter? I can't bear to tell her that I was raised in an asylum. I don't mean to be ashamed of my upbringing, but she comes from such money that I am concerned she will judge my humble beginnings. I got enough of that from the village boys when I showed up wearing their donated clothes, which all had to be altered to fit my small frame._

_School progresses at the boring crawl it always does. I am eager to learn, but memorizing abstract theorems in geometry tends to squash that desire. I love all of my art classes though. We've learned about perspective, and shading, and it's amazing, Winter. I'm learning so much, and my teacher says I am improving. It's quite a feat, considering my upbringing. The John Grier Home aims to turn 97 orphans into 97 twins by destroying all sense of creativity and self. I don't blame you, or Fury for it, since you both have aided in advancing my originality, but someone on the committee has a need to clone children, and they ought to be stopped. I'll try to write again soon, but finals will be here before we know it, and I don't want to disappoint._

_Yours,  
Steve Rogers_

_P.S. You never answered my question. I can picture you perfectly, except for your hair. Please send a response soon._

* * *

James was beginning to worry. Was it normal to look forward to a letter so much? It was just a piece of paper, a note written by someone he had never met, and yet it was the highlight of his week. He'd started spending his time just waiting to hear from Steve, instead of focusing on his work. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was supposed to get droll updates from someone he never cared to know so that he could feel like he was doing something good with the Barnes fortune. But Steve was engaging, and quick, and James was mesmerized. 

He put the letter into his desk drawer before he could be tempted to examine each line of messy handwriting, then set about convincing himself that he had paperwork to do. He definitely did not have time to read Sherlock Holmes. Not at all. He sighed and walked to his bookshelf. Paperwork could wait, but something told him that he would be distracted until he'd read what Steve had, and compared their thoughts, and over-examined everything he could. _You're hopeless,_ that voice in his head said, and James couldn't even think of an argument.

* * *

_December 19,  
Dear Winter Soldier, _

_You still have not answered my question. I took the liberty of completing your image without any information. Would you like to know what you look like? Your body is how I've often described you: tall, and rigid, and strong. Your face is where I began to take artistic liberties. You have a strong jaw, and a stern face, but you smile more often than people might think. You have crow's feet around your eyes, and a few other sets of wrinkles around your forehead and cheeks. Your eyes are grey, but they twinkle. You have dark hair, with sprinkles of grey hairs dusting your head. Am I close in my description, Winter? I doubt you will answer, but I am persistent if nothing else._

_Christmas break will begin next week. Peggy is leaving to spend time with her family, and I am sure Natalia will be off to some posh Barnes celebration. I imagine that each person gets their own turkey, and everything is plated in gold. . . . Forgive me, Winter, that was harsh. Christmas has never been particularly joyous for me. It normally involved sitting in a long sermon, scratching at my restrictive shirt collar, and then ending the day with a new pair of socks and two turkeys shared between ninety-seven children. Not exactly a reason to get excited. But I think this year will be more fun. Another freshmen in our building will be staying behind, as he is from somewhere far from here. His accent seems European, but I don't know if that means his family is in Europe, or if he is just newly immigrated. Nonetheless, we shall keep each other company._

_We continue to make advances in geometry and anatomy, and all other subjects. I can assure you that I know more about Hannibal than I shall ever need to know. Art continues to be amazing. My teachers continue to report on my improvement, and creativity. The bishop continues to be a nuisance. A mindless, misogynistic, and vapid nuisance. Things are beginning to become almost predictable. I hope that Christmas break will stir things up some._

_Yours,  
Steve Rogers_

* * *

Things were beginning to become even busier at the Barnes residence. Soon Natalia would be returning, along with countless other cousins and aunts and who-knows-whats. It seemed like every year someone new showed up claiming to be a second cousin three times removed who _really did_ deserve the splendor of a Barnes Christmas. The chaos pervaded every last peaceful area, until you couldn't think without being interrupted by someone. Normally, it meant that James put off all work, including reading letters. But nothing about Steve was normal, so there he was, reading a letter in the bathroom like some lovesick fool so that no one would try to pry into his matters.

He found Steve's description somewhat alarming, as it well described his own father. _Artists,_ he thought as he scoffed. _They can be scarily accurate._ Once again, Steve hit the nail on the head when it came to the Barnes family. James felt a similar disdain for his family and their rather extravagant ways, but Steve was far more honest than James ever would be. What really surprised him was how much he pitied Steve. Pity wasn't the right word though, Steven Rogers did not come across of a man who appreciated pity. No, he felt, well, no word accurately described what he felt. It was a strange mix of sorrow and pride. The thought of a small child not looking forward to Christmas, since they lacked the money to enjoy it, pulled at something deep inside James. And the thought of that child being Steve made it all the worse. But be was oddly satisfied that Steve handled it with such grace. Steve seemed a graceful person, in both phrase and spirit. 

"James?", came his mother's voice, startling him out of his introspection. "Are you alright dear?" 

"Yes," replied James. _Time to face the world again,_ he thought, and pocketed Steve's latest letter.

_January 4,  
Dear Winter Soldier, _

_Winter break has been a blessed reprieve. I had a great deal of fun celebrating, much more than I ever have in the past. Do you celebrate Christmas, Winter? Perhaps you are Jewish, or Buddhist, or some other religion. It occurs to me once again how little I know about you. I don't even know your race, not that it actually matters all that much. It is just odd not knowing something so basic about someone._

_It turns out the European student is named Thor Odinson. His parents live in Sweden, while he and his brother go to school here in the states. He is a rather large fellow, and strong as an ox. He is also incredibly cheerful. We make an odd pair. Him, a friendly giant, and I, a stubborn and tiny man. The college put on a few events for those of who stayed here, including a large dinner that we got to help prepare. Most of our time was spent just strolling the campus, or walking into town. As I said, it was nice to just speak with people, and explore my surroundings without any deadlines looming above. Although, finals are in February, but I shall conveniently forget about that for now._

_I know I am not meant to thank you, as your poor secretary told me, but I must say I was very pleasantly surprised by the Christmas gift you sent me. Five gold pieces is an awful lot, and I feel sorry for everyone who doesn't have such a generous person caring for them. I put your money to good use, too. I purchased:_

_1\. A silver pocket watch to help me stay punctual_  
2\. Matthew Arnold's poems   
3\. A few herbs to help with a cough I've developed   
4\. A new sketchbook   
5\. A set of colored pencils   
6\. A set of paints 

_So you can see, I am on my way to becoming a real artist. Colors of any sort cost money, so I never had much practice with them at the orphanage. I have another secret that will be between the two of us, Winter. There's another reason I don't use colors often. I don't exactly see the difference between some colors. I see the world in shades, but I hear others describe a full spectrum. Don't fret, it hasn't affected my art yet, and I doubt it ever will. I am simply far too stubborn to let something so trivial affect my success, Winter, and I mean that in the best way possible._

_As much as I have enjoyed my break, this old school seems rather lonely with only a portion to the students here. I miss Peggy, and the way she fills up the room. I am even beginning to miss Natalia. She may be arrogant and frigid, but each day she grows slightly warmer. Perhaps we may be friends after all. Or maybe her return to her family will have frozen her again. I won't know until her, and all the others come back._

_Yours with love,  
Steve Rogers _

_P.S. Is it appropriate to send love, Winter? If not, disregard it. But you have to love someone around the holidays, and Mr. Fury is but a distant memory, so you'll have to put up with it, Winter, you simply must._

Christmas had been a struggle, full of nosy relatives and far too many questions about when James would "settle down". He'd dodged each question, and nodded his head when appropriate, and been a model Barnes, but it was incredibly tiresome. That was how he had wound up in his chair in his office instead of somewhere more cozy. Fleeing the Barnes family was easy when one mentioned needing to maintain profits and such. Not even their curiosity was a match for there greed. James placed his head in his hands and sighed. He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, before rummaging through his mail. Bill, bill, letter from his uncle, another bill, and - _oh_. A letter from one Steve Rogers. James' heart leapt.

He opened the letter and read through it quickly. Steve's words flowed through his mind, and soothed his worries and frustration. James was almost at peace when he made it to the end of the letter and the postscript Steve had written. That postscript. James's mind raced. What could he mean by love? Surely Steve didn't actually mean it. James couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. He had been educated by the best scholars available. He could quote Shakespeare at a whim, and write poetry with the best of them, but a simple postscript written in haste had him baffled. He was trying to ignore the part of him that wanted to laugh and celebrate that little postscript. The part that daydreamed about the color of Steve's eyes, and made him keep each letter Steve sent. The part of him that was undeniably homosexual, which made it undeniably wrong, or so he was taught. But it was hard to think of it as wrong when he cared more for a man he'd never even met than he ever had for any woman in his life. And maybe he should stop thinking about hard things, alone in his office or not. And it wasn't good to think of that love as meaning anything. Steve had never talked to him, not once. And Steve wasn't even writing to him, Steve was writing to the Winter Soldier, a grumpy old man who cared for orphans. It was best to forget about the whole thing. But that observation didn't keep James from sliding the letter into his desk, and frequently pulling it back out as work began once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I promise Natalia will be a fleshed-out, likeable character by the end of this. Other than that, are you guys enjoying the story? I'm trying to update frequently, but my robotics team is preparing for our state competition, so that's kind of taking up a lot of my time. After I finish with that, I should be uploading chapters more often. Remember, I love you guys, and feedback is amazing!


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